


Sensory

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drabble Sequence, M/M, Team, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:05:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of five drabbles about what it means to be a member of a team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensory

**Sight**

SGC swears he’ll feel nothing but a brief moment of disorientation when he steps through the Stargate, but John suspects that these people are masters of understatement. Sure enough, sinking into that blue pool is like nothing John’s ever felt—a bone deep sensation that isn’t quite pain, as if he’s been shattered in the crossing and remade into someone new. Later, much later, when Rodney is kissing him, desperate and afraid because the Wraith have come and the sky burns, John will look into Rodney’s eyes—into their startling blue—and feel that same upheaval, that same electric shift.

**Taste**

Aiden raises the enzyme pouch to his lips and he drinks. He doesn’t need to do this. He _shouldn’t_ do this. It would set a bad example if the others saw. Aiden takes his injections with his men and he eats the food Jace doses when they’re in the field, but that doesn’t satisfy him. A needle can never replace the visceral pleasure of tearing the pouch with his teeth, its brackish contents flooding his mouth. He’s drunk with the red taste of it—anger and blood and passion, the sweet edge of rot and the bitterness of exile underneath.

**Smell**

John smells bright and clean like lemonade, like key lime pie, like a freshly sliced grapefruit. Rodney knows this scent exists only in his imagination, that it is, in fact, a psychological manifestation of the danger their relationship presents. He knows rationally that John smells like the soap they all use, and sometimes like sweat, and sometimes like blood and smoke. But when Rodney is licking his way down John’s torso, his tongue tracing each curved rib, his mouth warm and wet across John’s belly and lower, Rodney breathes in the sharp acid of citrus and refuses to be afraid.

**Sound**

Ronon has grown unaccustomed to the sound of voices other than his own. When he first arrives in Atlantis, he can’t bear the noise of so many people living in one place—boots on metal catwalks, laughter in the control room, the scrape of forks in the mess. Teyla is the only one who seems to understand Ronon’s difficulty. When they are together, Teyla rarely speaks. They eat in silence; they spar in silence; they watch each other’s backs in silence. When he listens, all Ronon hears is the soft inhalation of her breath, the deliberate movements of her body.

**Touch**

Sheppard’s team touches each other far too often for Caldwell’s taste. Their closeness appears inappropriate probably without actually being so and Caldwell can’t find a way to communicate his misgivings to Sheppard without being the asshole most of Atlantis already assumes he is. So Caldwell grits his teeth and says nothing when Ronon slings his arm around Sheppard’s waist and thumps him solidly on the chest; when Teyla pulls McKay close to her and rests her forehead against his; when Sheppard drags an injured McKay through the Gate, leaving bloody handprints on McKay’s shirt, around his wrists, along his jaw.


End file.
